In the Beginning
by Skylar Felton
Summary: Even the Bad Guy has to have a beginning. Before the air was thick with evil - before Tom Riddle was Voldemort - he was eleven years old. And he received the acceptance letter that started it all... [Designed as one-chapter installment]


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Even the soft light of the stars, shining through the small window of a dormitory at St Mary's Orphanage, was unable to mute the hopeless frustration on the face of the small boy picking at the chipping paint of the sill. An orphanage was rarely able to offer a happy memorable childhood, but in the case of this small boy – Tom Marvolo Riddle – each day was little more than a battle.

It wasn't that he was bullied; on the contrary – he himself was known for his somewhat animated temperament when things didn't go his way. This fierce independence was exactly what brought him to this point of hopeless frustration as he sat beneath the window of his dormitory while the other boys were asleep. It wasn't good enough – living in an orphanage, being treated as if he were bound to be the same as the other boys in the orphanage for all of his life. No, not him. He was determined to make something of his life.

As with every child, there was one figure who was a particular bane in his life. The boy who was liked so very much by those who oversaw the children of the orphanage. His lip curled distastefully as he though of the name, _Hayden Porter._ How he hated everything to do with him. Everything that reminded him of the boy. Always eager to please the ladies who took ran the orphanage, Hayden was the most orthodox of the children. He followed all the rules, and was undoubtedly the favourite. Yet despite this esteemed opinion common to the Sisters, Hayden would readily patronise Tom – and any other child that dared to show the potential of stepping out of line, or aiming higher than the standard of life the orphanage had naturally set.

Hayden's critical voice echoed around the confines of Tom's mind. '_You couldn't amount to anything more than the rest of us'… 'You're foolish to think you could make a mark in the world'… _Tom squeezed his eyes shut, in the futile hope that this would dam the memories of those words.

When his eyes opened, they now held a grim determination discernable behind the forming tears. A determination uncommon to a boy of ten – although he would be eleven in ten minutes, he counted. He _would_ be great. People _would_ know of him. Then he'd show them. He'd show Hayden Porter and all those like him that he didn't have to settle for this. People wouldn't look over him as 'just a boy from the orphanage'. He would be _known_. He would be _feared_. 

The soft ticking of the old fashioned analogue clock on the wall, rusted at the edges, held the room in its resounding heartbeat. Tom counted the seconds as the clock displayed the approaching time of midnight.

…10…9…8…7…

Tom's eyes threatened to spill at the thought of his eleventh year being no different from his tenth.

…6…5…4…

He hoped that it wouldn't be. Hoped with everything he had.

…3…2…

If only something magical would happen. Something to give him hope for a powerful and dominant future, beyond the confines of these stone orphanage walls.

…1…

Midnight. He was eleven years old.

As if the world was celebrating this event with him, a star twinkled as though winking at him, and a quiet muffled hoot of victory pierced the air.

Tom blinked.

That wasn't a hoot of victory – it was the hoot of an owl. An owl that appeared to be flying for the window he was seated at. When he squinted to see, the owl appeared to holding a large white rat in its mouth. Well, that would explain the muffled sound of the hoot.

No…no, not a rat. A…letter?

The brown owl landed on the sill and turned its gold-flecked eyes towards Tom. It dropped its message onto his lap, and casting one last glance at the boy still motionless with shock, retreated back out of the window.

The owl had long since disappeared before Tom looked down at the delivery, and the address it read.

'Mr T. Riddle'

The 8th Bed of the 2nd Row

St Mary's Orphanage

London

His confusion lasted only the few seconds it took him to remember what he had learned about his mother – she got her Hogwarts letter at age eleven! So, that story was true? Old Agatha Morris had come to visit him before, although he dreaded each time she did. She smelled of peppermints and her lips were pinched as though she was perpetually sucking a lemon. She had told fanciful stories – at least, Tom had assumed they were stories – about how his mother was an amazing witch, but had left it all behind so that she could be with her husband, the man from whom Tom inherited his name. 'Muggles', Agatha had called them – the people like his father. People who couldn't do magic. Agatha herself had retreated into the world of Muggles when a spell gone awry killed her brother. She'd told Tom that although she lived as a Muggle, she was a close friend and confidante of his mother, and she supported through her life.

_Not much of a support though, was she?_ Tom thought. _My mother still died. I still ended up here._

He sat in stunned silence, still gazing down at the letter. Hogwarts! Hogwarts – the school where he could learn to be a powerful wizard! He had never thought that his mother's magical gift – even if she'd truly had it, which it now appeared she had - would be passed to him. 

But now he had the opportunity to be something more than what he was. He would go a wizarding school! He was determined to thrive there. _Now_ he would be powerful, he knew. If he worked hard enough, he could grow to be a powerful wizard – maybe even the most powerful in the world! Then he'd show that Hayden Porter!

Tom's insides churned with a mixture of resentment, anger, and excitement.

His fingers were quivering with anticipation as he fumbled to open the envelope, trying not to wake the sleeping children around him. With a faint rustling, he opened the letter to read the flowing script.

"Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-"

Tom felt as if his heart had just jumped clear of his chest. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he read on:

"-Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment."

He scanned the list to see all manner of unusual things. Books of magical references, a pewter cauldron, a wand…

With this new reality revealed, a whole new realm of possibilities trailed in its wake.

Tom smiled to himself. _Soon,_ he thought. _Soon I will be gone from here, to become the most powerful and feared sorcerer in the world…_

In the inky blanket of sky strewn with diamonds, the one diamond that had winked at him as he'd entered his eleventh year faltered a little before being consumed by the darkness.


End file.
